


Workshop Violation

by PhoenixSong13



Category: Back to the Future (Movies)
Genre: BacktotheFuture3, BufordTannen, DocIsThereInSpirit, IAmAHorriblePerson, M/M, MartyMcFly, MartyNeedsHelp, OldWest1885
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-08
Updated: 2017-09-08
Packaged: 2018-12-25 11:11:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,951
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12034680
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PhoenixSong13/pseuds/PhoenixSong13
Summary: Before the shootout between Marty and Buford, Buford pays "Clint Eastwood" a visit





	Workshop Violation

**Author's Note:**

> This is kinda violent so please be kind. If there is a continuity problem, please bring it to my attention!

Workshop Violation  
*A Back to the Future Fanfiction. I own none of the characters. First time writing in this verse, so please be gentle*  
Marty woke to the smell of toast, eggs, bacon, and coffee. For a moment, he could imagine he was home, that his mother was down in the kitchen cooking breakfast, his father reading the paper and chatting animatedly with Lorraine at the same time. It was a pleasant thought and he snuggled into the pillow to preserve the moment of serenity.

However, under the scents of breakfast, he could smell dirt, sawdust, and the metal of the blacksmith shop where Dr. Emmett Brown currently worked in the year 1885. Harsh reality smacked Marty in the face and he sighed. He was 100 years away from the happy scene in his head. Heavy.

Marty nearly tumbled out of bed, completely disheveled and weary. He'd slept hard after the eventful night from before. Coffee sounded amazing at the moment and the toast heavenly. The bacon and eggs could easily have been manna from heaven.

He scratched his scalp and stumbled towards the coffee pot. The flap on his long johns hung open on the right side, exposing his buttock to the world. Not that he cared at the moment. It was rather obvious that he was alone and that the Doc hadn't come home all night. Marty was sure he'd spent the night with Clara Clayton.

He took a bracing gulp of black coffee, feeling it burning all the way down, bringing alertness in its wake. His eyes fell on the Colt Peacemaker he had been given the night before for his upcoming fight with Buford Tannen the next day. He picked it up, along with the ammunition belt and slung it over his hips.

He looked into the mirror, his hat perched on his head. "You want a piece of me, Tannen? You want a piece of Clint Eastwood?" He took the gun out of the holster, spinning it in his fingers like a pro. "Yeah, I thought not. I'll show you, you son of a bitch."

Suddenly, without warning, Marty was grabbed and spun around, causing him to slam into a cabinet behind him. He cried out, falling to the ground in a heap. The Peacemaker skittered away from him under a wardrobe.

He looked up and, to his utter horror, found Buford "Mad Dog" Tannen himself glaring down at him, rage in his small black eyes. The gunslinger grabbed Marty by the hair, jerking him upward.

"Think yer real funny, do ya, runt? Think that just cuz Strickland saved yer sissy ass, yer the big man 'round these parts?" His mustache fairly quivered with his anger. "I reckon I oughta teach ya a lesson, Eastwood!"

"Wh—why are you here, Tannen? I thought you had business today." Marty tried to sound casual, but he was really terrified. Buford Tannen was nastier and much more cruel than Biff had ever thought of being.

"Thought I'd pay the smithy a little visit afore doin' it, little payback for last night. But yer a much better prize, runt." Tannen grinned gruesomely.

Marty felt panic rise like bile in his throat. "If you kill me here alone, it'll be a coward's way, Tannen! They'll say you were too yellow to face me in broad daylight!"  
Buford laughed, the sound devoid of any real humor. "Who said I had ta kill ya ta teach ya a lesson?"

He threw Marty onto the cot that he'd been sleeping on, advancing on him. His face was twisted and Marty became horrified when he recognized the look as lust. He felt his blood run cold.

"Now, Tannen…Tannen, let's not do anything hasty, okay? Leave now and no one will think of you as less of a brute than you are now…I certainly won't say anything," Marty said, trying to keep his voice from sounding too panicked. He was losing that fight, as his voice was several octaves too high.

"Oh, I don't think so, runt. Not when yer showin' me that bee-hind o' yers like ya want me to touch it. Come ta think of it, those clothes you was wearin' when ya first showed that too-purdy face 'round here was kinda dandified. Are ya a pansy, Eastwood? Do ya like the feel of a man against yer ass?" At this, Buford pinned Marty down, his strength overtaking the far more slender young man. "Cuz I can surely oblige ya."

Marty tried to push against Tannen, but it was useless; the weight of the outlaw made it absolutely impossible to move. "Tannen, stop—!"

A hard fist to his cheek stopped him from speaking. He spat blood onto the quilt, his blue eyes wide with shock. Buford murmured in Marty's ear.

"This is gonna happen, runt. Fight me, I don't give a damn. It'll hurt like hell for ya, but the screamin's half the fun. For me at least. If'n ya know what's good fer ya, ye'll just le me in. 'Sup to you, though. I don't care either way." With that, he ripped open the butt flap on the long-johns, tilting Marty's hips up. He pushed his legs back, exposing his entrance easily. "Aw, yeah. That's a glory hole ready for a vigorous fuckin'. Bet yer a little cock slut, eh, Eastwood?

Marty's eyes closed as his mind took stock of the situation. He was trapped beneath Buford Tannen (who had a good 100 lbs on him), his ass exposed, and no chance that Doc was coming back anytime soon. He couldn't fight Tannen, and he knew it. He had no options and he was in no position to escape. There was no choice.

"I can't stop you, Tannen. But I'm sure even you would prefer not to get hurt when you do this," Marty said, hating that his voice was shaking.

"What d'ya mean, Eastwood?" Buford growled out.

"I mean that I'm no nickel an hour whore, Tannen. Unless you want to injure yourself, you'll need to use something to slick me up first." Marty was suddenly grateful for the really open-minded health teacher from the year before who had explained the mechanics of homosexual relations. She'd been fired the next week, but it seemed her lesson had held.

Tannen blinked. "What d'ya suggest?"

Marty pointed to the table next to his cot. "There's some petroleum jelly there. Use that."  
Tannen grabbed the tin, popping off the top. He dipped his fingers into the greasy substance and slid one into Marty without preamble.

The smaller man yelped at the foreign intrusion and his body instinctively clamped down. His eyes snapped shut and he forcefully tried to will himself to relax so it wouldn't be worse than it already was.

Tannen shoved the finger in a few times before pushing the second in alongside it, stretching Marty's tight ring of muscle. Marty shuddered, trying to displace himself from the situation. But he could not distract himself from the feeling of being violated.

Finally, Tannen withdrew his fingers, slicked a little of the jelly on his cock and plunged straight into the smaller man without warning, without concern. Marty screamed as he felt like he was being ripped in two. His back arched painfully and his leg jerked out. He kicked something over and his nails dug into the thin mattress of the cot.

"Aw, shit! Tighter'n any whore I've ever done afore!" Tannen groaned, pushing all the way in, fighting against the ring of muscle that was now only weakly resisting.

Hot tears of pain and shame streaked down Marty's cheeks. He grimaced, gripping the mattress hard enough to hear the fabric ripping in protest.

It was worse than anything he'd ever imagined. A friend of his at school, who happened to be gay, talked about the sex like it was God's gift to humanity. If it felt like this, then Rich was a masochist.

Tannen took no notice of Marty's pain. In fact, he seemed totally oblivious to anything but his own pleasure. He pushed Marty deeper into the mattress so that the metal coils, already complaining at this mistreatment, cut into the younger man's back.

Marty was scouring his brain, trying to think of a way to distract himself. He tried to conjure an image of Jennifer, but he couldn't get past the fact that there was a MAN inside of him. He could feel it with every thrust.

Think, McFly! If you could picture any guy doing this, who would it be? he asked himself. There was Needles. No. No no no. Too creepy. Biff Tannen from 1955 came to mind. He wasn't bad looking but this WAS his great-grandfather doing this to him. Nope, had to get away from the name Tannen.

There was young George McFly. He was kind of cute, a little mousy maybe, but a good man. Marty mentally slapped himself. Where the hell had THAT thought come from? George McFly was Marty's father!

A particularly hard thrust drew a sharp cry from the younger man and he lost his train of thought. His left hand flew up, scrabbling at Buford Tannen's massive arm, gripping the coarse cotton shirt in his fingers as he turned his head to the side.

By doing so, he exposed his neck to Tannen, who bit down rather savagely, marking him. To his utter horror, Marty's hips snapped up in response even as he yelped in pain. This seemed to spur Tannen on and he drove in deeper.

C'mon, McFly! Imagine someone else! he screamed at himself. Suddenly, an image of the one man he trusted with his life swam to the surface. Doc. Even if Doc was in his sixties (though the RevitaClinic in 2015 had given him some of his youth back, a good 30 years), the thought wasn't entirely unwelcome, though a little discomfiting.  
Emmett Brown was fit and virile, his heart kind of meticulous, and Marty's best male friend. Closing his eyes, the youngest McFly conjured the image of Doc Brown above him, within him. Marty's body relaxed against the onslaught, even as his mind balked slightly at the thought of ANY man inside of him.

Tannen mistook the sudden release of tension as a confirmation that Marty was enjoying his attention. He knew he was good with the whores, but to get a man to spread his legs wider for him was almost the ultimate compliment.

At the same time, Marty's mind conjured images of Doc stroking his thighs as he pushed into the younger man, soft whispers of affection and care issuing from his lips. He could imagine those same lips kissing a searing line down Marty's jugular, nipping at the tender flesh there. His body responded to this image, no matter how fabricated, in order to forget the bruising, cruel pace with which Buford Tannen was fucking him.  
Buford grabbed Marty's wrists, pinning them high above his head, angling the smaller man's hips so he could drive in deeper. Tannen would never admit it out loud, but fucking the man beneath him was a hell of a lot more satisfying than being with a woman. The responses of Marty's body were thrilling Tannen and he felt like he could go on forever, where it only took about 15 minutes for him to fuck a woman.

"Fuck, Eastwood…! Yer such a goddamned cock slut. Ya love this, my dick in yer ass. Yer practically devourin' me each time…" Tannen nipped his throat, sucking hard on Marty's Adam's Apple.

Marty gasped, lost in his imagination. The Doc's hands were moving over his skin and his cock was hard inside of him. He struck upon something deep within Marty and the young man arched up, his cry long and languid.

"G—God, Doc!" Marty mumbled out loud, rocking his body to his partner's,

Tannen's eyebrows shot up, in danger of disappearing into his hairline. He knew that the boy called the Blacksmith 'Doc'. Was he seriously imagining the old man fucking him?

"Ya got a think for that old smithy, Eastwood? He fuck ya e'ery night? You his little slut?" Tannen growled dangerously in Marty's ear, snapping him out of his fantasy. "He bend ya over his workbench an' make ya beg fer it? Cuz I'll do that if'n that's what gets ya off, ya little bitch."

Cold fear snaked it's way into the bit of Marty's stomach. He hadn't meant to speak aloud, and he didn't want Doc to ever know about this.

Marty started struggling against Buford Tannen hard. He kicked out and bucked his hips, trying to dislodge the bigger man. He freed one hand and pulled it back, punching Tannen square in the jaw.

It was as if he had simply tried to bat away an annoying fly. He didn't do any damage, only seemed to amuse Buford, though a flash of anger shot across his features. Marty received a hard slap across the face, snapping his head to the side.

"Try that again an' I'll kill ya 'thout thinkin' twice 'bout it." Tannen pulled out of Marty and yanked him to his feet. "Punishment's in order, Eastwood. Move." He shoved a knee into the small of Marty's back, causing the younger man to sprawl forward, falling against the workbench, baring his backside completely.

Marty was terrified. He knew the kind of man "Mad Dog" Tannen was. Punishment could mean anything from a beating to having a couple of fingers or toes removed. He really hated the idea of the last option.

"Good. Smithy's good at his job. He's left a fire burnin' just for us. Handy, fires." Tannen slide a ring from his finger, a large a thick metal band with a big, ornate T carved in. He placed the ring in some fire tongs and set them over the flame to heat.

"Know what that ring means, Eastwood?" Marty numbly shook his head. "It's my family's insignia. It's known purdy much ever'where, whether it's from our days as pirates, when we was tanners and brandin' our cattle, or from my gang's love of money and…erm…less than lawful means of our proliferation, it's known ever'where. All I gotta do is mark ya, brand ya like a calf, and the world'll know who fucked ya, Eastwood."

Marty turned ghostly white. "Y—you wouldn't. You wouldn't mark a man, Tannen.."

The breathy laugh in Marty's ear made him feel sick. "The world looks more kindly on the man who fucks with his dick than the man on the receivin' end o' things." With that, Tannen shoved into him hard, pushing him against the workbench.

Marty yelped and had to cling to the workbench to keep from toppling at the sudden force with which he was being taken. Tannen seemed to have redoubled his efforts and was aiming for an orgasm.

The sounds of skin slapping together echoed around the vast workshop. Marty was making small noises, soft 'ahs' with each thrust, which seemed to spur Tannen on.  
So lost in the feelings was Marty that he didn't see Buford pick up the fire tongs. The ring's top glowed a bright orange now, the surface white-hot. A twisted smile contorted Tannen's features as he continued his assault on the younger man. And then he placed the makeshift brand against the smooth, perfect skin of Marty's right shoulder.

The pain was intense and Marty could feel the flesh searing away. He let out a high-pitched scream and pitched forward in an involuntary attempt to get away from the pain.

Tannen gripped him hard around the waist and bottomed out as Marty's ass muscles tightened around him in response to the pain. The sudden pressure around his cock forced him to come. He snarled as rope after creamy rope of cum shot into the smaller man's body.

Marty had gone limp, though not from orgasm. The adrenaline that had rushed through him at the pain had left him fairly quickly and his body had given out.

Buford's weight was uncomfortably hot against his back and the burn throbbed angrily. The larger man breathed hotly in Marty's ear, running calloused fingers over the burn. Marty jumped slightly.

"Aw, yeah, Eastwood. Such a good little fuck. And now yer marked. Property of Buford Tannen…" Tannen swiped the flat of his tongue over the burn and Marty cried out, back arching as he tried to move away.

Tannen laughed and pulled out of the younger man. He slapped Marty's backside and pulled his own trousers back up. Once rebuckled, he grabbed Marty's wrist, dragging him up and tossing him onto the cot rather unceremoniously.

"Whatever you and the smithy share, this'll probably shake it all up. I'd pay money ta see it. But I really gotta be hittin' the road. I'll see ya tomorrow, Eastwood. Bright an'   
early. Try not to limp to the fight." Buford turned to leave and looked back at the door. 

"You look good with my jism leaking out yer hole, runt." With that, Tannen left the workshop, laughing like a loon.

Marty could do nothing more than curl up, trying to ignore the pain in his ass and shoulder. It couldn't be real. It just couldn't. What he wouldn't give to be back in 1985.   
He'd even take his wimpy father again if it meant safety.

Fatigue overcame him quickly and he drifted off. His morning had been hellish at best and tomorrow might only be vaguely better.

At the same time, across town, unaware of the horrors at his workshop, Dr. Emmett Brown kissed Clara Clayton goodbye a spring in his step and joy in his heart.  
Le Fin (for now)

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you liked it! It was posted on my fanfiction.net account, but I have since taken it down


End file.
